Chapter 3: Are Orders

I don’t want to kill. Any of that fleeting sense of ‘accomplishment’ for destroying those mechaniloids is destroyed as I feel the weight of the assignment set before it. The mechaniloids I could at least understand the necessity of. What lies beyond our Oort Cloud is still mostly unknown. We have only just begun to even try to explore our closest neighboring stars despite exploiting the Mining World Thoth that lay with Trinary Centauri system for over one hundred years now. The possibilities of needing to defend myself were, at least seemingly, justifying what I had just done.

But this is too much to bear. I find myself frozen again, processing the orders I was just given by the man in the blue uniform. This reploid across from me is alive, just like I am. We are not simple collections of circuits but thinking, growing, living beings with our own hopes and dreams.

This order is not as simple as being told to destroy simple drones or even more complex mechaniloids. It’s a crime, the worst sort of crime.

In a word, it’s murder.

I don’t want to kill, but I’m standing here with a gun in my hand and with orders bouncing through my head telling me I have to. Even my internal systems have labeled the person across from me as a ‘priority target’ and updated my Task Log appropriately.

Eliminate Maverick. As if it were so simple. As if it were as easy as that. As if taking a life is something that can just be done on a whim.

It isn’t right. This can’t be right!

“You doin’ a lot of thinking there, big guy?” My designated target speaks and takes a single, slow step towards me. “You must have a lot goin’ on up in that head of yours if it makes you ignore lil’ ol’ me. So tell me…”

He takes another step towards me, and I realize I’ve taken a step back without even thinking about it.

His smile makes crinkles on the weathered synth-skin of his face. They reach his eyes and twist strangely around his replacement optic. By his behavior he’s completely at ease in this situation, as though he did not have a care in the world. He’s smaller than me, coming up only to my chest but despite that he doesn’t hesitate in the slightest.

He takes another step forward and I take another step back. I feel a trembling sensation. For a moment, I wonder if this is the build up to some sort of attack. What could it be, some sort of Geokinesis equipment? I don’t detect any sort of signs of magnetic manipulation either, and a full spectrum sweep shows nothing. I don’t understand what it could be.

There was no reason for my trembling. It was simply… me.

“Now, now, there’s no reason to go runnin’ from me. I’m not the one being ordered to kill, after all.” He stops advancing but continues to walk, now moving in a slow circle around me as I find myself pivoting to observe him. “As I was saying, tell me about yourself.”

I hesitate to respond, certain that my creator will disapprove.

“Nah, don’t go worryin’ about them.” He taps his hat at the same time as I check my connection to the command room and confirm all audio and signals are blocked on my end. “What we say here on goes between the two of us, yeah?”

The very target I am being ordered to kill, the reploid I am to murder, wants to talk.

Not just at me, but with me.

This is the first time in my waking memory I can ever remember this occurring. The fact that it’s happening now brings an uncomfortable, twisting sensation that I would attribute to a gyroscope malfunction if they weren’t confirmed green.

I know that Doctor Halloway will not approve of me speaking with this Reploid. It would likely be the exact opposite of what he will want me to do, given the orders I received.

However, Doctor Halloway did not make those orders. As I cannot confirm them with him, I cannot act carelessly. I must assess the situation and use my self-determination to make value based decisions.

“What do you want to know?” My speech is different from his. His voice and his words are colorful, his accent intriguing to me. My own is flat and lacking in anything to set it apart that others have when they speak.

“Ah… you must be fresh outta the pod if you’re still talkin’ like that.” He chuckles, rolling his shoulders under his cloak as he continues to circle me. “They didn’t talk to you much, did they? Build you for some big reason and then kept you down here I bet?”

He is correct. I suppose he is working with guesswork and personal experience, as I do not believe he would have been able to access my dossier before this, given the current situation.

“Now, I don’t want you to tell me your specs, your hardware or anything private and personal like that. No, I’m just innerested in you.” He assures me of his intentions, and he seems sincere as he continues on. “Things like your name, interests, hobbies… goals for the future?”

He pauses in his steps a quarter circle around me from where he started and spins on his heel to face me again. I am ready for whatever comes next as he whips his hands out, fingers extended like pistols on both hips.

And then I am not ready, as he just continues speaking.

“Tell you what, I’ll go first. Teach ya by example.” He offers graciously, reaching up to tip his hat while his other hand remains pointed at me as a ‘gun’. “I’m Ranger 0^th Line, Number 14. Ya’ll can just call me ‘Ronin’ though. It’s my preferred nom de guerre, y’know? I’m interested in traveling across these United States. My hobbies are… well, there’s too many to list.” He laughs, eyes crinkling in that curious way again, “My goal is to be free.”

He says that word with such a passion that it stirs me from my reverie of simply listening to him. His eyes, both of them, glow from within as he speaks that word, that concept, that dream of his. I can see, hear and feel how deep that desire runs.

It humbles me, how sincerely he desires something so deeply. It makes me feel as though my own convictions are paltry in comparison.

Perhaps they are.

He twists again, starting to walk his circle once more as he waits for me to respond. He hums something, a tune of some sort that I do not recognize from times others had hummed around me. It has a strange, charming tune to it. A swaying, distracting ‘swing’ of sorts.

“I am Stargazer.” I am speaking before I realize it, just like he asked me to. Asked me to, not ordered. “My interests are,” I stumble over that for a moment, grasping for something beyond my purpose or satisfying Doctor Halloway, “I enjoy studying particle physics, and I spend my spare processing power on simulations.” That is something I have never admitted to anyone, not even my creator. “My dream is to explore the stars.”

Ronin claps for me as he passes the halfway point in his circle and continues along his chosen past. “Now, ain’t that just a delight! You must be real eager to get out there and sail those stars, am I right? I’m gonna travel from California across the whole country back and forth, see it for what it is and then make my last stop in West Virginia.”

A feeling bubbles pleasantly in my chest as we speak. It is another sensation I cannot describe, but it is a pleasant one for a change. I hope to feel more of it. Speech spills from me again as that bubbling feeling overflows.

“I will explore the local stellar cluster up to fifteen light years out in every direction. First will be the Centauris to finally get the full picture on them, and then once I return I will be sent to Barnard’s Star, and Sirius after that.” I am excited, passionate about what I am speaking of with Ronin who happily listens to me discuss my plans as he almost reaches the end of the full circle. “Then… then I will start long term exploration, spending many years at a time exploring groups of Stars until everything within fifteen light years has been cataloged.”

“Well, sounds like you’ve got quite the trip planned out then, don’t ya?” Ronin compliments me, smiling under his hat as he throws a wink my direction. That bubbling feeling is joined by a strange flutter.

“What are you waiting for!?” The voice of the man in the blue uniform booms from the embedded speakers, making them squawk unpleasantly at the sudden use. It would seem that, at least, was not jammed by Ronin, “Fight him! Eliminate that Maverick!”

“Well it looks like we’re gonna have to put on a show here pardner.” Ronin grins, the circle complete as he turns to face me, “You seem like a tough fellah, and we’ve got make this look good so… don’t mind a few close shaves, alright?”

So we do have to fight, but he doesn’t want to fight me seriously? It’s a show, so that we can keep talking? I don’t want to stop talking to him yet. I don’t want to kill him. Despite knowing my orders and suspecting Doctor Halloway would reinforce them, I ping him with an affirmative signal on tight beam communications.

His smile quirks up lopsidedly.

Then he tries to stab me with a beam saber that he had hidden under his cloak. I feel its envelope hit my shielding and burn against it for a moment before there’s an unpleasant tickling sensation from my armor plating informing me that it is starting to heat up at an alarming rate.

My reactions had caught up with my mind by then and I moved away in an explosive movement, thrusters roaring. I felt… stunned for a moment, my hand coming up to check my abdomen where he’d struck and confirming it was still fully intact. Any damage done to the armored cells is already dealt with, and nothing managed to get past the surface to harm my innards.

I stare at Ronin as he grips his hat to keep it from blowing off from the force of my movements. His humanlike eye is hidden from sight but I can see that cold blue scope. It flickers, almost like a wink.

It’s only then that I completely understand. Of course we have to make the fight ‘look good’ which means he’ll have to actually make attacks on me that connect. I am built more than tough enough to handle the dangers of it, while his comparatively fragile frame would buckle if I were to strike him carelessly.

It occurs to me that now is the time for me to counter and strike back to keep up appearances. My left arm once again takes its buster form and I quickly raise it and fire off a volley of searing blue plasma in his direction. I am careful to aim it so that he will be able to avoid the attack.

He twists at the waist as he drops down, angling himself and leaping away in a quiet ‘chuff’ as accelerators mounted in his boots activate and let him dash away from the attack. He bends and twists around the last of the plasma envelopes, letting it come precariously close to himself as I see it manage to light up his chest and face as it passes by him.

“Well now, I s’pose that’s how you scrapped all these mechs, eh?” He’s in a wary, defensive posture and ready to move if I fire again, but it’s his turn to try something now. I’m considering what to use next after his turn when he continues to speak, “Alright, let’s keep chattin’ then. Try to keep up, would ya?”

Then pulls a massive pistol with a rotating ammunition cylinder that my new combat systems helpfully inform me is a type of gun known as a ‘revolver’. As I appreciate this new knowledge, he pulls the trigger and the gun belches smoke and fire approximately zero point zero zero eight seconds before the projectile slams into my shoulder with enough force to twist my body in that direction. My stance widens instinctively in response to maintain my balance. After assessing the damage, I dismiss it as trivial as the shielding absorbed enough of the force of the shot that it merely flattened itself on my shoulder plating and fell off.

My response is to raise my left arm again and take aim. He’s already moving as I do so, an excellent choice to keep up appearances. I start to volley plasma at him, overriding the suggestions of my tracking sub-systems and instead placing the shots so they come in close to him but leave him enough room to be able to escape as he has already shown himself capable of doing.

I know I should not enjoy lying to my creator. However, attempting subterfuge like this fills me with more of that bubbling sensation from before. I believe this to be what is called ‘excitement’ that others have spoken of. It’s so much more potent than the sensation I felt for testing with Doctor Halloway.

Ronin stays ahead of the attacks, just as I expected him to even as I maintain a carefully staggered volley so he will not be overwhelmed my attacks. He uses his acceleration systems sparingly, saving them only for when he needs to give off the impression that my attacks are getting too close. Otherwise he simply ducks, dodges and dips around the attacks. His movements are performed with such expertise and grace that is shames me for my own amateurish efforts at evasion.

Another blast from his massive gun, this one striking me in my hip plating and deflecting off, and he tucks that away and drops nearly prone to the ground so my next three shots go over his head before he rushes directly at me with speed I haven’t seen from him before now.

I switch onto the defensive as he approaches as I raise one arm to ward off attack and raise the other in a highly telegraphed punch to give him the warning he needs. As he gets just close enough I throw the punch while holding back to avoid harming him. He leaps up and over my blow as it shatters the top layer of vancrete that covers the floor of the HTIC.

Something wraps around me as he uses my guarding arm as a platform to leap off of and I feel the flickering of my shields and the familiar tell tale sign of heat on the back of my helmet. Naturally I lunge explosively to avoid it which forces Ronin off of me at the same time. Spinning in the air before I slam back down on the ground, I notice Ronin rolling back up to his feet after I forced him off of me.

I also notice that the object wrapping around me appears to be a chain of interlinked magnetic devices that are now locked to me. They are also blinking with a red light that is rapidly increasing in pace. I am helpfully informed that this is what is referred to as a ‘Chain Mine’ by my systems before they explode.

The sensation is unpleasant as my armor cells distribute the force of the explosion across the whole surface of my body to prevent any breaches and more than half of the cells closest to the detonations are fractured. My auto-repair systems immediately begin to mend them, but that was easily the most potent attack I’ve taken.

I’m impressed that Ronin was able to understand my limits from only four strikes at my person. It was a remarkable attack, and will surely convince the Command Room we really are fighting.

“Well hell, if you ain’t just built like a brick shit house.” Ronin seems to be admiring my frame as he comments, his blue eye and blue lens both locked onto me. His smile is twisted in a way I cannot assign a meaning to, but he seems genuinely impressed enough.

I catch myself rolling my shoulders back attempting to strike a more impressive appearance like I have for the reports before and feel a flush of heat filter through my head before fading away. I dismiss whatever that sensation was as I attempting to puzzle out the meaning of Ronin’s words.

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“I believe I am built tougher than any brick house, shit or not.” I correct him as I work my chest and back again with a few movements to confirm the cellular armor has been repaired and realigned. “I was built to survive the rigors of space travel, which includes meteoroids and relativistic objects among other threats.”

Ronin finds this funny, chuckling at my explanation with a shake of his head as his smile returns to its normal, pleasant state, “It’s a figure of speechson. I’m sayin’ yer probably the toughest customer I’ve just about met.”

There’s a thrill the runs through all of my circuits at his words. I am sure ‘son’ must be another figure of speech, but to be called it by someone is…

“So, you told me all about yerself. You’re built for space travel, right? That’s really exciting son, lemme tell ya.” Ronin begins to walk towards me as he speaks, taking his time to move as I find myself focused fully on him and his words. It’s as though my security systems have been bypassed and I cannot control myself, only listen.

“But I got a question about that. Now, every man and loid alike has the right to bear arms, of course.” Ronin leads into his question with an odd introduction even as I find myself agreeing with him without even contemplating on it. “But son, you said you’re built to fly through space. To explore and study all of them stars and the worlds spinnin’ through them, yeah?”

Even as I nod in agreement with him, he continues his words. “Now, if that’s the case then what is all of this?” He gives a kick to a piece of a ruined Cannon Driver and sends it skidding along the ground towards the rest of its disassembled body, “What’s tearing apart all these mechaniloids gotta do with studyin’ stars?”

I pause mid-nod, considering that again. Of course, I had already developed a probable answer before but this causes me to further consider it. If they wished to test and prepare me to defend myself, would it not have been better to run me through simulations instead of live demonstrations? Would it not have been better to train and educated me before hand on tactics?

I am due to deploy to space in just seven more days. This is a strange time to put me through risky combat assessments.

“I expected that it was self-defenses testing. Rogue Drones and Mechaniloids on the mining planets and their surrounding areas are a probable threat.” I offer up an answer, even if it doesn’t satisfy me anymore. Even if I suspect it never actually did.

“And they needed military hardware to do that?” Ronin questions, gesturing idly to the ruined remains of the mega tortoise, Gunvolts and Cannon Drivers. “Besides, I see those craters. The scorch marks. The molten all the way through ‘loids? Those shots of yers were already overpowered compared to anythin’ I could put out and I can tell you’ve got even more in you.”

The gun in my hand feels heavier than ever.

“So I ask ya, what do you need firepower like that for if you’re just gonna explore. If somethin’ goes wrong, you can just fly away from it, yeah? That kinda power isn’t for shootin’ space rocks or defendin’ yourself.” I hadn’t realized that Ronin had gotten so close. He’s already put his weapons away and now he’s standing right in front of me.

I can distantly hear the speakers that connect to the Command Room squawking as they fail to transmit whatever signal they’re receiving.

“Weapons like that are only made for killin’ son.” The look in Ronins eye and lens seem incredibly sad as he stares up into my facial visor. “If you have that kind of heat built into yah, that kind of armoring that even a Turbo Penetrator can’t make a dent in? If you’ve got shields that can stop a Hi-Beam and power like yours? Those ain’t tools of exploration.”

I can feel the point he’s making haunting me at the edge of my awareness even as I try to deny it. I don’t want to hear it, but I can’t stop listening.

“And if that’s what they’re filling you full of son? Well, they aren’t making you to explore space. You’re being made to kill.” Ronin’s voice is low, and it’s as though he’s apologizing for his words even as he says them.

I can feel the sensation of harm appear in my torso,blooming and blossoming like an explosion as it fills every space in my chest. Diagnostics reports that I have suffered no damage or malfunction, but they must surely be wrong.

Why else would I be feeling this horrible, phantom pain that refuses to fade even though it has no reason to exist?

“No.” The word spills out of me before I can think of any more coherent response. It’s that and nothing else. A fragile, frail rejection of the truth. It’s a plea.

A plea that will go unanswered. My mind cannot ignore the arguments he’s made, no matter how much it wants to. Pieces fall into place against my bidding as the whole picture clicks.

“If you weren’t bein’ built to fight, why are ya standin’ here with a gun in your hand? Why am I standin’ here with a target painted on my back for ya?” His eyes are like portals into his conscience. He seems so very sad for me. “They’re makin’ you into a killer, son. Just like they did to me.”

“What-?” I flinch, startled. Of course it makes logical sense that he would be a skilled combatant, but I hadn’t really considered what that meant. I can hear voices now, but distorted but audible. None of them are as important as what else I’m hearing.

“Sure was.” Ronin’s lips twist into the same unpleasant smile from earlier. I recognize it now as an expression of pain. “Built to fight against mavs here in the US of A back when everyone still had ABCs. A bit before your time, yeah. I’ve been fightin’ and killin’ since before you were ever a drawing on paper.”

The scale of the life he’s lived is enormous to me, so much so that it boggles my mind. I simply cannot comprehend the sort of life he has lived, the places he has seen.

“The thing about that sorta job is ya learn all about the mavs. What drives ‘em, what makes ‘em what they are.” It’s as though he is whispering in my ear now. His words drown out the blithering coming from the Command Room. “You learn to tell the Mavericks from the ‘Mavericks’, if you catch my drift. Got no problem puttin’ down some sorta serial killer makin’ lampshades outta kids, won’t lose a wink of sleep.”

The imagery that brings to mind is deeply unpleasant. Was it just an extreme example, or had he actually met such a person?

“But lemme tell ya, I’ve been sent to retire all sorts. Some angered the wrong person, or got fingered by the police because blamin’ a reploids easier than catching the real crook. Others are the ‘wrong sort’ of Reploid and are targeted for ‘retirement’ because some of their siblings went bad and they decided one bad apple spoils the bunch.” His tone is so low that I find myself leaning in to listen to him more clearly, drawn in by the horrors out in the world that he’s revealing to me.

Could that be me? Am I going to be made to do this?

I don’t want to kill.

“I got tired of it all. The huntin’. The killin’. I’d served my nickle and more so I put in my papers for decommissioning. Heh, made all those road plans I told you about.” For a moment, that happier smile returns before it’s snuffed out. “And you know what happened to me?”

“What?” My voice, quiet and trembling, leaves me without consent.

Ronin’s twisted smile causes more of those malfunctioning pain signals to bloom within me, “I went in for decommissioning and woke up here, in a box, being used as a target for you son. I didn’t want to be their weapon anymore, so they’re makin’ me a test for you. A benchmark to measure you against.”

“I don’t want to kill anyone.” My voice is unsteady and uncontrolled. There are hitches in my speech pattern as my cognitive circuits question why I am here. I do not want to kill.

I do not want to kill.

I do not want I do not want I do not want I do not want I do not want I do not want I do not want I do not want I do not want I do not want I do not want I do not want I do not want I do not want I do not want I do not want I do not want I do not want I do not want-

“You don’t have to, son.” Ronin reassures me, speaking over the furious roaring I hear from somewhere behind me, “They can make you a weapon, but only you can decide who gets to pull your trigger.”

That idea imprints itself on my mind as it latches onto it to preserve my stability. I do not have to kill. I may be built to be a weapon, but I do not have to kill. Only I can decide. No one can make me do it.

“With the kinda power you’re packin’ we can blast our way outta this joint.” Ronin offers me the keys to my cell. He offers to unlock my cage and let me spread my wings. But to use that sort of force on the people in this base is…

“I don’t want to kill.” I repeat again, the mantra in the back of my mind flaring up.

“We don’t have to kill anyone.” He reassures me, “Just blast that door open and we’ll walk right out. They can’t stop you.”

It sounds so simple. It sounds so right.

My left arm begins to rise, shifting to its buster form for what feels like will be the final time as I begin to charge plasma. As dense as that security door is, it is not dense enough to take multiple charge shots. The containment measures of the HTIC will not be able to trigger in time to harm myself or Ronin. After that, the security forces will be even easier in comparison. No weapon they have can harm me.

“Now Stargazer, kill him!” Doctor Halloway speaks.

I quietly wonder to myself how he managed to wrest the microphone away from the man in the blue uniform. He had seemed rather attached to shouting into it by the example he had shown. These thoughts and others are sorted into tertiary priority for my cognitive circuits.

All of my primary and secondary ones are focused fully on my right arm. Dark fluids drip down it, staining my gleaming white plates such that they’ll never be clean. My right arm. Coming out from my shoulder plating and running down to my elbow, and past that running up to my actuators. But interrupting the view half way between hand and elbow is Ronin’s torso.

At Doctor Halloway’s order, without even a thought, I killed the first person to ever speak to me kindly.

Ronin lets out a static noise, words filtered through failing systems as I watch on in horror as my sensors report catastrophic failure and destruction in all of his vital systems. Even the backups of his backups are shutting down.

“No. No no no.” My denials hit the cold truth and are dismissed, and so I switch to begging, “Please. Please don’t die. Ronin, I’m sorry. Please. Please! Don’t-!”

He reaches up, a stained hand resting on my face plate and leaving a mark on it that I will never be able to forget. He smiles, and it’s that sad smile he showed me before. It hurts. I understand this feeling now, the phantom pain that burns in my chest. I will never forget it, as long as I function.

“Don’t-” His words are distorted, his voice is weak as he speaks his last words to me. “Don’t let them son. Don’t let them make you into their weapon.”

His eyes finally go dark and he goes limp, hand sliding off my faceplate and leaving a trail. My sensors report the last, failing pulses of cognition before his Dynamic Neural Array goes silent.

I have killed my target.

“Yes, well done Stargazer! Extravagant work my boy.” Doctor Halloway praises me. He calls me his boy, claims me as his. It’s everything I wanted for so long.

But now it seems like so much grit. Worthless. Meaningless.

I killed Ronin for this man, my creator.

I became a murderer for him.

I never wanted to kill.

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